


The dead boys club

by GreyWeeknds



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-20
Updated: 2013-03-20
Packaged: 2017-12-05 22:38:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/728693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyWeeknds/pseuds/GreyWeeknds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They were outsiders, they didn't belong in this world. They didn't chose to be friends, they were forced to it. </p><p>When police officer Steve Morgan visits the house where the five young men died that has reached the newspapers, he finds this suicide note that's been signed from 'The dead boys club'.</p><p>They all had their reasons, nobody could ever argue with that. Like Liam, he was tired of the life and sometimes he just starred out into nothing. Or Zayn, the artist who wanted to paint his death himself. </p><p>It's a story where love, hate, friendship and society drives even the brightest one mad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The dead boys club

_Silence_. The antique clock on the grey wall had stopped ticking a long time ago and the sound from the boiling eggs in the cauldron was as quiet as a blowing kiss. There came black smoke from the hotplates on the stove and there was a weird scent that travelled treacherously around in the small kitchen. It smelled like burnt plastic or hair, it was really disgusting and he had to swallow the bad tasting vomit that touched his tongue. The walls were covered with wooden frames with black and white pictures inside of them, a blonde and a brunette laughing happily together in one of the photos. There was no point to imagine what the two boys were; you could be blind and still manage to see that they were in love. The one with the curls seemed to be the more depressed of the two of them, sentences inked into his skin. ‘Can I cry?’ was carved in blood on his upper arm and there were tears visible inside of his eyes, behind the emerald shadows. The smaller teen looked happier and he couldn’t understand what it was that made him do it, but he guessed that sadness doesn’t always have to be visual to be real.

He let his eyes travel to the next picture, the blonde and the brunette was not alone anymore. They were occupied with three other friends that rested their arms on the other’s shoulder. There was a bloke with a shaved head and arrows on his forearm. He was a bit taller than the rest of his friends and his fingers were long and slender. He looked shy and helpless and for a moment Steve thought about the natural kingdom. If he had been an animal, he would be the first one who wouldn’t survive out there in the wild. His eyes screamed that he was beyond scared and unconsciously he let his fingers touch the boy’s cheek comfortingly. He had to wipe away the cold tear that had found its way from his blurry sight and his heart wrenched in pain. If they just asked for help, then perhaps everything would be different now. They could be happy and heal together, but it was too late to save them.

There was a beautiful teen with jet-black hair and dark shimmering eyes where you couldn’t even distinguish where the pupil were. His whole appearance looked tailor made and for a moment he wondered if he has also painted his own face with a brush and not just the canvas that he had found down in the dark and cold basement. The old man looked jealously on the lad, how could a pretty guy like him just throw away such beauty? He was the total opposite to the raven; his belly was so fat that he couldn’t even make it through a door without turning around so that he had to walk sideways. He had a massive and rampant moustache over his thin lips and on his hairy chest was a golden star that was sparkling when the fluorescent shined on it. He touched it proudly with his dirty fingers before he corrected the glasses that had fallen down on the tip of his nose. 

The last one in the picture didn’t even look up, his eyes were staring down on the ground and his shoulders hanged ashamedly down as someone had attached weights on them. His hair was messy and there was nothing resembling with him and the others. Even though he looked sad as the first one, small as the second, shy like the third and beautiful like the fourth, there was something different with him. He looked like he was already dead and said goodbye to the world. There was an ounce pain marked into his forehead and he wondered what had been going on inside of that pretty little head. Had he already been planning his death?

“Steve, come here, I want to show you something!” his partner shouted.

She had always been really shrill and sometimes he’s actually considered to slap her face so hard that he wouldn’t have to hear her annoying voice every day, but then he remembered himself that it was unacceptable thing for a man to hit a woman and he was the towns’ police officer, people looked up and counted on him.

He walked over to her slowly as his fat was sloshing loudly inside of his uniform. He patted his stomach embarrassedly because there was no way that he wanted to let her have the satisfaction to have something more to mock him about. He was old enough to be her father and still she sent him those glares sometimes that said ‘you’re absolutely disgusting boss’.

She handed over an envelope and there was a lock of hair attached to it. Even though he couldn’t see the colours on the pictures, he was certain that it was the brunette’s. Its form was swirly and they were so soft that it almost felt like feathers towards his palm. It tickled a lot and he tried to swallow the laugh that hid inside of his throat. It was a nice and warm feeling; he had almost forgotten how to smile since his work always contained a dark and depressing ending. It drains on one’s psyche when you have to see dead bodies all the time, and specially children.

He opened the envelope with his thick fingers, his nails burying inside of sheet. It only contained a piece of yellowish paper that looked really old. It was written with black ink in a pretty cursive, something very unusual for such a young person. The old man let his eyes tremble down on the letter, trying to hold back the tears that had started to build up again. It said:

_Dear someone,_

_You who are reading this paper know which path me and my friends chose. I’m sorry if there’s people down there who still misses us, but it was necessary. We were outsiders from the day that we climbed out of our mothers’ wombs, not fitting inside this world that we were created in. There were so many things expected of us that we couldn’t manage to fulfil, and it’s sad to say that we’ve let you all down._

_Please forget us; it only hurts to remember what’s once gone,_

_The dead boys club._

“It’s really horrible, isn’t it?” Becky asked as she glanced down with her cat resembling eyes on the letter.

“Yes, it’s a tremendous loss that we’ve all been receiving.” He stated.  

He walked over to the big fireplace, brushing away the ashes on the seat with his hand. Steve placed the envelope with the young teen’s curl beside it; the boys’ lives had extinguished that same way as the flame inside of the fireplace. It wasn’t often that he sheared a tear for the corpses that he visited, but this was an exception. They were only in the age of seventeen and a couple of years more, barely adults. They would never have a wife or kid, never experience real love. In a decade or so they would be forgotten by people and only remain as a distant memory for their families. He placed his thin and chewed lips down on the suicide note before he whispered almost inaudible:

_“Goodnight boys.”_

-

He drew his slender fingers over the dusty books; they felt really old towards his skin and they smelled very stale. But he liked it, it felt familiar and he remembered when he had only been a child. His grandpa used to bring him to the library outside of the city, showing him were the real beauty could be found. It had been also him that had made him write poetry, loving every small and black letters on the white papers where he filled them on later. There was something special with getting lost in the magic of a novel. Nobody could disturb him and he could forget all the worries and problems that he was hiding from the in the real world. A good book was the only place where Harry really felt safe to hide.

At school he didn’t have that many friends, to be honest there weren’t anyone besides Liam, Zayn and Louis. If it had been another world he wouldn’t probably be their friend to begin with, but when he had to live in this shithole, there weren’t much to choose between. He didn’t dislike them, it was quite the opposite really, but if he had the ability from the beginning, then he would at least choose one friend that had a little but more intellectual interests. You could think that Zayn would be the one that he could talk to about smart things since he liked art and that stuff, but no, all he cared about was to paint the world with colours. He wasn’t interested to know which century the Mona-Lisa had been made, or the history of Van Gogh. To be honest, he was a bit dull, just white smoke instead of a brain inside of that pretty little head.

Harry didn’t like to call himself a snob or anything similar, but he couldn’t help that he liked to think about himself as a brighter person than most of the people in his school (or rather, in the whole town). People here only cared about shagging birds or going to dirty parties, getting so drunk that they wouldn’t remember the tomorrow. He didn’t really see the point about consuming that amount of alcohol into their bodies if they didn’t really had any memories about it later. That was the reason why he liked to drink wine, sitting in the silence in his dark writing room. He loved to sip at the edge as he felt the warmth from the fireplace embracing his skin. He felt more important when he did that, with his moleskine in his lap and the fountain pen between his thumb and index finger while he was sitting on the black and shiny leather armchair. He liked to look fancy in his blazer and shirt tucked into his trousers, and according to Harry, that didn’t make him snobby at all.

Liam was really nice, if he had to choose one of his three friends that he liked the most, he would certainly pick Liam. He was always there if he felt down, and if he ever needed someone to listen to him while he talked about how Swift had developed Gulliver in his story, then Liam gladly had an ear to offer. But the thing about Liam that really bugged him was that he always seemed to be tired, never _really_ giving Harry his full attention when he was talking to him. Sometimes he just stared right into the air as his hands were trembling with fear, and Harry had to admit that he was a bit scared when he did that. He changed from a harmless bunny into this dead zombie, his eyes widening and lips that were pressed into a straight line.

The latest one that had joined his little ‘gang’ had been Louis Tomlinson, the lad from Doncaster. They had known each other for ages, but never talked since the brunette had been rather popular before everything went down for the poor bloke. It hadn’t been until the whole school had found out that his mum was a prostitute that everything changed. It had been one of the guys in the football team that had gone down the dark alley near the pubs, the place where every lad knew that the hookers gathered. There had been an elder woman that had offered him her body, showing her legs all the way up to the garters. Of course he had refused her (or that had been what he said anyway) and not long after that, the word had been spread itself through the air. Louis hadn’t denied it when his friends had asked him if it was true, if his mum really was a whore. Harry was quite certain that he regretted it now since he was the one of the four that had it the worst, not being able to go anywhere without him being mocked by some students or earlier pals. It was Liam who had chose him, saved him from when somebody had thrown him into a nasty dumpster. And Harry was actually really proud over that he could say that he was a friend with someone that was popular, well once popular to be honest.

The old lady in the library walked to him with one leg staggering, wrinkles covering her whole face. She rested her fragile palm onto the worn cane, two dull blue eyes placed on him. She gave him her usual smile as her purple skirt was dragging onto the dirty floor. Slowly she pointed with her index finger at one of the books into the antique shelf, her strong perfume made him a bit dizzy when she came nearer.

 “To kill a mockingbird, one of my favourite novels all time.” She whispered in a deep voice.

“Yeah?”

“It’s a sin that no one has touched it in over ten years. Keep it, since I know there won’t be somebody reading in another decade too. I’ve seen you here every day since you were just a toddler, always had eyes that see things that other passes by.”

He looked at her, his gaze flacking between her eyes and the book. He was really grateful for her bountiful gesture, and he didn’t know how he could show her how thankful he really was. All he could think of was murmuring a quick ‘thank you’ as he squeezed her hand.

He pulled out the worn-out book from the shelf as he put it down in his brown messenger bag, reminding himself to read it directly when he came home.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then dear?” the old lady asked hopefully.

“Yeah, I’ll be here tomorrow again at the same time.” Harry informed her.

He gave her a final nod before he corrected the little fleece rose on the front pocket and walked out of the stale local. Harry could feel her eyes burying themselves into the back of his head, and he tried to brush of the unpleasant feeling. 

The weather was really cold and the sun was just a shadow on the sky, hiding beneath the grey soft clouds that were floating on the air. His body was shivering slightly as he murmured that it was ‘bloody gelid outside’. He had to press his long arms around his ribs, over the beige trench coat, so that he wouldn’t freeze to death. It was only the beginning of September and it shouldn’t be snowing already.

He remembered that his dad used to love the white dust before he left. That was one of the few memories that Harry still had of his father, because he had disappeared when he had been only about five years old. It had been harder for Gemma, since she was both older and stood closer to him. It had changed her from being a nice and young girl to this teenage monster. She had blamed their mother for a really long time, and she hadn’t forgiven her until two years ago when she had gotten a boyfriend by herself and grew up a bit. But Harry knew that it wasn’t Anne’s fault, it had just been fate, and nothing that they had had an impact on.

He thought about the old lady once again. Sometimes he just wished that people in his own age would understand him the same as she did. Everything would have been much easier then, never worrying about if somebody would throw a crumbled caricature of him on the back of his head. She reminded him a bit of his grandpa, except the whole staring bit. He had also comprehended Harry’s personality, perhaps even built it himself. It had been him who had been Harry’s favourite person in the entire world before he died, and it had affected him far more than when his father left him.

-

The almost black eyes didn’t even notice him; they were glued onto the once white canvas. The brush was dancing in a rhythm while he chewed inside of the left cheek. It was really beautiful, just like all the others he had made. They were always very colourful, like he had dipped it in LSD so that he could get the final spark.

“So, when is it ready?” Harry asked impatiently.

“Never. Art can never be finished, only on hiatus.” The raven murmured, not even looking away from the painting.

“Okay then, when will it be on hiatus? Because we were going to meet Li and Lou five minutes ago.” Harry said annoyingly as he pattered his watch.

“I’ll continue with it later then, since this won’t take that long time.”

Zayn washed the brush and the red colour that had been attached to the straws was now blending together with the water from the sink. He wasn’t really that surprised to be honest, Zayn was always at least half an hour late to everything. It had been a long time ago when he actually cared about coming in time; there was no point of giving a damn about it since Zayn clearly didn’t. Louis and Liam weren’t probably there anyway since also they had gotten used to wait for the lad.

He had known Zayn since primary school and already then, the boy had loved to paint. He could sit the trough the whole recess with a pencil in his hand as he drew dead birds or a talking green pig. Sure, he hadn’t painted that amazingly then, but everybody had understood that there were something special with that hand of his.

“Harry, have you seen my phone?” the voice shouted from the other side of the room.

“Check your pockets.” The brunette grunted.

For a moment they were silent, and Harry felt a bit of the irritation was dripping off. He never stayed angry with his friends for more than a little while. They were really hopeless and he had learnt that there was no way to change them, so he had to accept that they were always going to get him on his nerves even on the sunniest days.

“I found it, I left it in my underwear drawer,” He chuckled before he went out to the hallway.

Harry only sighed, because what else was he supposed to do? It wasn’t like he could just leave without Zayn, as he was the only one who actually owned a car. And that was a bit ridiculous since he didn’t even have taken his driving license yet, but that didn’t stop the raven from flying. When he kept his mind set into something, there was nothing that could stop the Bradford kid. It was often rather good when he was so determent like he was, but sometimes it was the most annoying thing that could happen in Harry’s life.

“C’mon little posh or we’ll be late.” Zayn said as he waved his hand.

“You do know that we’re already huh?”

“Nah, I’m never late for the party, the party is always just early and waiting for me.”

“Oh shut up, you as well as I know that that’s the fullest load of bullshit and not something smart. If you want to try be deep, say it to Liam since he’s as deep as a teaspoon.” Harry muttered, glancing down on his watch again.

-

“So my cousin from Ireland will come and live with me for a while.” Liam said, a small smile hiding beneath his nose.

“He’s cool?” Louis wondered.

“Yeah, he’s great.”

An awkward silence spread around them as they sipped on their really bad tasting black coffees from the dirty mugs that probably never had been dished. Harry liked it to be here, sure it was really nasty everywhere, cobwebs in all the corners of the house, but it felt good that the four of them had this own little secret.

It had been three years ago that they had found the deserted house, or well when Louis had found it. He used to run away when the bullies from school wanted to beat the crap out of him, so the only solution that he could come up with was to hide in here. When he later had befriended the three other boys, he had shown them his safety place. Zayn began to paint beautiful creations on the walls, Harry moved in some of his books; Liam the leather armchair and Louis had some old mugs and plates that he sneaked out from his parents. It wasn’t really a house, but it was their home.

“Would it be okay if we showed him this?” Liam asked, knowing already what their answer would be.

“No, not a chance Payne.” Harry warned him.

“I don’t know Li, I mean, we don’t even know his name? Perhaps he’s not just cool, but popular too?” Louis whispered as a small blush crawled up on his cheeks.

“Niall, his name is Niall. And I’ll promise you that he won’t be popular, he’s too weird for that.” The hazel-eyed lad tried to insure them.

“We’ll see.” Zayn said, and everybody understood that that was the end of this conversation.

Harry didn’t meant to be rude, but he didn’t want some intruder to just come in here and take away the one thing that meant the most for them. They had put their souls and hearts in this house, there was not a chance that some Irish bloke was going to destroy all that.

“S-so how does your cousin look like?” Louis whispered, trying to make Liam feel better.

“Well, he’s really short, almost like a midget…”

“Everybody is short compared to you Li.” The jet-black haired chuckled.

“Yeah, yeah. Anyway, he’s got blue eyes and he’s a blonde. And, well I don’t know what there’s more to say.”

Harry couldn’t actually believe that Zayn was on Liam’s side now. It had been him who had been there for Zayn when he had got mocked and called a terrorist when the whole 9/11 thing happened. Liam hadn’t even known them then, it had been just Harry who had hugged him and told him that there was nothing wrong with him. It made his blood boil; he couldn’t explain how angry he felt. His knuckles turned white and his lips were as straight as an arrow.

“Harry, why aren’t you drinking your coffee? You look like your sick or something.” The shaved bloke said as he laid his palm against the curly haired lad’s forehead.

“I’m fine.” He mumbled back, trying to let the anger wash away.

“Anyway. Well I’m going to pick him up tomorrow at the…”

After that, Harry decided to not listen to them anymore. He drowned in his own thoughts, having the feeling that it would never ever going to be the same again.

-

“That’s him! The little guy in the snapback, that’s Niall!” Liam said as he ran happily down to the guy in the blue sweatshirt.

To Harry’s surprise, he didn’t really look that Irish to be fair with. The whole sloppy style with a skateboard under his armpit, made him look more American. It wasn’t until he heard the thick accent that he understood that he actually was from the green country and not just some California guy.

“Good to see you cousin!” the deep voice chuckled as he patted Liam on his back.

“Yeah, I’ve missed you so much.” The older teen said as he crushed the blonde into a bear hug.

“I. Can’t. Fucking. Breathe.” Niall exclaimed.

The hazel-eyed lad let the grip of the smaller boy go, as he blushed fiercely. In some way it felt wrong for him and the other lads to be here, watching as they had their own little family reunion. It felt like that they were intruding on their space and perhaps the best thing would be just to go.

He looked at Louis, eyes once again glued on the floor. He hated to see the brunette being like this, looking like he wanted to die. Harry could still remember hearing his friend once saying the quote from Peter Pan, ‘Death would be an awfully big adventure’. It wasn’t the sentence that scared him, but how his voice had sounded so longingly after it.

Death wasn’t something that terrified Harry, quite the contrary to be honest. He wondered how it would feel like when he wasn’t in this horrible body anymore, just a soul floating around in a haze. But the thing that scared him was being without his friends, and that was the reason why he had disliked the way Louis had said it.

He narrowed his eyes and glanced towards Niall. It wasn’t that he hated the kid, because he seemed genuinely happy and nice. But their group was already doing fine, or as fine as them as outsiders could do. They didn’t need a new member; he looked too ordinary to belong with them. There was no depth in him, nothing intellectual about him like Harry, or the artistic like Zayn, the emptiness like Liam, or even the depresses like Louis. No, this guy looked only shallow and dumb, and Harry wasn’t at all interested into knowing him. And he was certainly not noticing those blue, blue, _blue_ shimmering eyes.

“So, what are we going to do first?” Niall wondered.

“Perhaps we could show him the house?” Liam said as he chewed on his bottom lip.

“Liam! We told you not to say anything about it!” Harry shouted as he smacked the taller guy’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry, okay? It’s just that it doesn’t feel right to lie to him.”

“It’s okay Li, we understand guys, right?” Louis said comfortingly.

The others just agreed, not wanting to build up more tension that there already were. Harry on the other hand felt more suffocated than he had ever felt. The air felt harder to breathe and he had to push his nails into his ribs so that his friends wouldn’t notice him. He hated when he got like this, not being able to think straight. All he wanted to do was to scream; yet he couldn’t even open his mouth. It felt like his brain wasn’t functioning and he his body was acting on its own.

The last time that he had gotten like this was when one of the jocks at his school had stolen one of his poems that Harry had written. He had put it on fire right in front of the green eyes, smirking evilly as the paper turned to dust. It had taken him a whole week to collect himself, and the anxiety waves to become normal again.

He glanced down on the blonde’s fingers; they were zippering up a little black bag. He picked up a camera, not one of the new and fancy ones, but an old vintage Polaroid.

“Can I take a picture of you guys?”

They just hummed in an agreement as they laid their arms around each other’s shoulders. Niall handed over the camera to a passing by tourist, asking him nicely if he could take the photo of them. _‘Smile Harry, smile’_ he thought to himself. He had to look nice and not like he was already a wreck, he didn’t want to be remembered as the weird kid when they would look at this picture in the future again.

“Awesome, thanks buddy!” Niall grinned happily as he tucked the Polaroid photo into his front pocket.

They walked together to Zayn’s rusty old pick-up that was waiting patiently for them on the lonely pavement. Harry had no idea how the five of them was going to fit in a car built for two. Usually they packed themselves together, and often they wouldn’t even be able to close the doors. So he didn’t know how they were going to solve this problem, but it wasn’t something that he was going to work himself up on.

“Harry, Niall, out. You’re the smallest ones, you have to sit on the luggage.” Zayn ordered as he pointed at the back of the truck.

“You have to be kidding me.” Harry exclaimed, not sure if the tanned teen was being serious.

“I’m certainly not. Well, get out before I’ll lift you out myself.”

He heard Niall mumble something about this was going to be epic. He couldn’t disagree with the Irishman more than he did now. If he was going to die young, this wasn’t the way he wanted to. He wanted to die like a poet, words written on his skin as the blood covered his body. He wanted to die beautiful, being surrounded by friends and be free. He wanted to slip away from all the worries that held him awake the entire nights, staring up into the roof; and he wanted to die as a dove. But this was not the way he wanted to perish from the earth’s surface.

“Ease up kiddo.” Niall chuckled as he turned around the blue snapback.

Ease up? Harry didn’t want to ‘ease up’. He wanted to just to sit in his old leather armchair as his fountain pen was scribbling fiercely on the white sheets. He wanted to drink warm and calming tea that made his body sleepy. But this wasn’t something that Harry had the urge to do, and some Irish new kid wasn’t supposed to tell him what and whatnot to do.

Carefully he climbed up on the rusty luggage, clinging on its sides for his life. This was something he was going to regret, he was certain of that. But when he looked towards the blonde, Harry couldn’t find himself to not smile. His arms were stretched out as wings as he screamed barbaric, laughing like a maniac. If he had to be honest, it looked rather… fun? To just be young, wild and free while he behaved like a bird, flying in the air. It was nice seeing somebody be so carefree in this age. The last time he had seen somebody being like this was when he had been five years old, when everybody played with toys and Pokémon.

“C’mon Harry, scream with me!” The thick and heavy air drowned Niall’s voice as he shouted happily.

“I-I can’t.” he stammered back, nervousness crawling into his skin.

“You can and you will! C’mon now and scream!”

Harry took a deep breath, his heart beating hardly against his chest. It felt like he was going to pass out, the blood was drowning down from his face and his palms were so sweaty that they were even oilier than butter. He wasn’t used of people demanding over him, he was usually the one who decided things. Everybody that knew him had comprehended that it wasn’t something to recommend to other people to being a head over Harry, that it usually ended in tragedy. The last time that that had happened, his mum had found him lying unconscious in their bathtub with scars on his wrist and blood that covered the porcelain that his body was spread on. Well, it hadn’t been scars; it had been words, or rather, poems. Whenever he felt inferior, he used to take up his pen and drained the ink while he carved it into his skin. There was still a visible sentence from the last time he had cut himself, ‘I’m not crying, it’s just my eyes that’s leaking’.

He looked into the blue eyes; they were begging him to try. He wanted to hate the lad, even dislike him, but there was something so angelic and pure over him. He was just a boy trapped into an older guy’s body. His soul was young and innocent, and Harry felt obliged to at least try to let loose.

He nodded towards the smaller teen as he filled his lungs with air before he screamed the highest he could with his arms fluttering in the wind.

“It’s liberating, isn’t it?” Niall wondered.

He only nodded his head in response as he continued screaming, hearing a deep chuckle surrounding his ears as the dug memories into his mind. If this was what it felt like to be free, then he never wanted to let this feeling disappear. It felt like the cage that he had been locked into had opened, and this was the first time that he had gotten the chance to really use his wings and fly.

The city lights were shimmering prettily and the sound of the passing by cars sounded like bullets being shot over a deserted field. Even though it was really cold, Harry didn’t felt it. His entire body felt really warm and the heart that was pounding in his chest was slowing down cautiously.

“We’re the dead boys club!” Niall screamed as he joined him once again.

“We’re what?” Harry asked, not knowing if the guy had hit his head into one of the road signs.

“We’re the dead boys club, the boys who’s dead in this world but forever living in the stories of us.” Niall explained.

Harry only giggled back as a response, still not understanding what he was talking about. It seemed like he had been drinking something strong when he had been travelling with that cheep airplane.

“You’ll understand later Harry, just give it some time.”

-

He narrowed his eyes as his eyes were glued on Liam. He was once again just looking out into nothing with emptiness in his eyes. Harry knew that his parents expected that their son was going to end school with high marks and being involved in every possible after school activity. Sometimes Harry felt bad about the kid, being only eighteen and having the expectations to be perfect with no dirt into his soul.

Harry had noticed the change a year ago, from this happy and squirmy guy, to this walking zombie. Not appreciating life, only looking like he was waiting by a station for a train that wasn’t going to stop by for him.

“So what do you think about Niall?” Liam cleared his throat as he scratched his scalp with his fingers.

“What do you mean?” Harry frowned confusingly.

“I mean, you guys seemed to have fun yesterday when you were on the luggage, screaming and behaving like kids.”

“Yeah, it was fun, but just a one-off. It’s not like I’m going to be that ridiculous again, it was just my brain that stopped functioning for a second.”

They were silent for a moment, Liam’s eyes etched into Harry’s skin. It was actually really irritating, and he didn’t understood why everything had to be about Niall all the time. All he had heard the latest week was the name of Irish, and to be honest, it was slowly starting to piss him off. Usually, Harry was quite the calm person, not getting angry or too involved with things that could upset other human beings, but he didn’t like when others jumped to rushed conclusions about him. People couldn’t just judge and think stuff about him when he wasn’t quite sure himself.

“What is it Liam?” he said as he pronounced his name were slowly, clearly irritated.

“So, what do you think about my cousin?”

“I don’t think anything about him, Li. He’s your problem, not mine.”

“Well he said that he liked you. Sure, he thought that you were a bit tense, but that’s the understatement of the year, but he thought that you were cool to hang around.” Liam said, a small smile playing on his lips.

“I’m glad that someone of us enjoyed the other ones company as I thought that it was really dreadful.” Harry hissed before he stood up and walked out of the room, leaving Liam all by himself.

Sometimes he just hated his friends; they never understood what he felt like. He felt suffocated and Liam should be the first one to comprehend it. All Liam did was whine over how small he felt when his parents drew assumptions about him, and then he did the same with Harry.

He looked towards Louis; he was walking to the shaved bloke that was sitting with his head hanging sadly down in the air. The oldest guy of the two of them hugged him comfortable as he murmured something about Harry being ‘his usual dumb self’. Harry couldn’t even be mad at him; it was too noticeable how he felt about Liam to be even angry at. Whenever the Doncaster lad had the chance, he tried to make him smile. That was why he was still alive, Harry guessed. If it hadn’t been for Liam, then Louis wouldn’t have a reason to continue living this hell of life he had. It would be so easy for him if he just ended it, to just escape all the mean words or fists that he had to put up with every single day. In some way Harry felt thankful that he was still here, but it was just in a selfish point of view. But if he had to think about Louis’ best, then it would probably better if he just died.

Harry on the other hand did have a hard life too, he really did. But in some way he was the most blessed of the four of them. Even though his constant anxiety and feeling of being surrounded by less intellectual people, he didn’t have to put up with all the shit like the other threes. Usually people just avoided him, thinking that he was the school freak that didn’t have a life outside of the library. Zayn had it pretty good too, it had only been worse for him in the beginning of this century. But there were still idiots who mocked him about his religion or called him a terrorist. What they didn’t know was that really, Zayn was as harmless a fly. It was just his appearance that made him look bad, with all the stubble, earnings and tattoos that covered half of his body. It didn’t help with the black leatherjacket either, and the fags that he carried with himself everywhere that he went. He was the total opposite of the Irish.

‘No’, Harry thought, ‘I shall not think about that bloke again and give Liam the pleasure’. How could actually the shaved kid think that Harry really had made an opinion about his cousin after just meeting him one day? It wasn’t like Harry could scan the blonde like a computer did, and then understand that yes, he was good enough to befriend. And he had said that Harry was tense, how was that going to help him like the lad better? Even though it was true, it wasn’t something he liked to be shoved in the face with. In his whole life he had been persuaded by other persons how uptight and boring he was, so when people he didn’t knew said something similar like that, they stepped on a sore toe.

Harry had never been fond of the idea of making people like him; he had always thought that it was their own problem if they didn’t. But it felt really good; better than he wanted to admit, that Niall had said that he had liked Harry’s company. And if he had to be honest, he had liked Niall’s company too. But that didn’t mean anything, right? It didn’t mean that he had to be his friend or had to do more stupid stuff like yesterday. The screaming-thing had been more adventurous than his entire life, and it wasn’t something he wanted to make a habit.

He remembered when Zayn had forced him to smoke one time. They had been eleven and the two of them had been outside, feeling the cold wind blow against their bare arms. He could still see the hair on his arms that had point up as arrows in night air.

He had refused to take it, only shook his head as the darker lad put it between his lips. It had token Harry all the courage in his body to finally say yes, that he was going to try the cigarettes. Zayn had looked like he had won a million pounds when Harry took the fag with his trembling hand as he let it ghost over his lips. He felt humiliated as the foreign male laughed at him when he began coughing from the smoke. It had tasted awful, his lungs felt numb and his mouth had never been in a greater health risk than it had done there. He had been clearly satisfied over Harry’s reaction and it was a picture, forever kept inside of his mind of the laughing bloke.

When speaking of the devil, Zayn walked out from one of the bedrooms as he gripped Harry’s sleeve and pulled him with him into the kitchen again.

“I think that we should celebrate Niall’s moving here.” Zayn stated, clearly been planning this when he was supposed to be sleeping.

“You mean like a party?” Liam wondered.

“Nah, just the five of us, in the old house with booze and some good music.” The black-haired male grinned.

Harry didn’t like the sound of the five of them. It had always been them four, even numbers. Whenever some of them got tired of one of their friends, they could just go to someone other. But now they were five, not a friend each. That didn’t make the split fair, not even.

“Yeah, that’s a really good idea, isn’t it Liam?” Louis asked hopefully, waiting for his recognition.

“I guess.” The taller boy shrugged his shoulders.

“Great, this is going to be a wild night!” Zayn said as threw his fist towards the sky.

Somehow Harry doubted that extremely much.

-

Everything was going better than Harry had actually thought. They weren’t too drunk, not the ‘I don’t want to live anymore’ rant that Louis always used to bring up when he had drank a little bit too much. Well, that was until Zayn waved a green and empty glass bottle in the air.

“No…” Harry whispered.

This could not be happening, not once again, and especially not when Niall was going to join them. The last time they had played truth or dare, Liam had to kiss Zayn on the cheek, and Louis had been down for days.

“I think it’s time to do the old classic guys!” the tanned teen grinned.

Niall giggled fiercely as the bottle landed on him. Harry looked as Zayn crawled over on his knees to the blonde, grinning a cheeky smirk. He planted his lips on Niall’s swollen ones, and like a bullet, Harry’s stomach began to wrench painfully. It was probably just because he hadn’t eaten since this morning, because that was the only explanation that he could come up with anyway.

“Ni, it’s your turn to spin the bottle.”

Niall, who was still blushing like a maniac, whirled it around. His lives curved into a smile when it landed on Harry, and the pain in his belly only enlarged.

“Truth or dare Harry.”

“Truth.” He said as his voice cracked treacherously.

“Why don’t you like me?”

Well that was unexpected if he could say so. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the kid; it was just that he interfered on their personal space. It was hard for Harry to comprehend changes, and Niall; he was the biggest change in his life right now.

“Dare.” Harry said, not having the urge of answering the stupid question.

“Haz, you know you can’t change, right?” Louis stated.

“So, why do you dislike me so much? Liam told me that you thought it was ‘dreadful’.” Niall asked once again.

“Liam! I said that to you in confidence.” The curly haired whined.

“He’s my cousin! And just answer the freaking question Harry.” The brunette exclaimed, guilt all over his face.

“I-I don’t _dislike_ you, it’s just that I don’t know you either. I have quite the hard to time to start liking people just like that.”

“That’s fine. But just so you know Styles, I’m going to get you to like me, and you’re going to like me _very_ much.”

-

He heard a loud banging on his door, but it was probably just some seller that wanted to sell him a new vacuum cleaner so de decided to drift back to sleep again. He was alone in his dream, bathing in a big, blue ocean. The colour was extremely beautiful and it didn’t smelled like sea usually did, not even one bit. It had the scent of cologne and toothpaste, and for a second he forgot how to breathe as he drew in the scent through his nostrils.

His ribcage slowed down its pace until it suddenly looked like it wasn’t moving at all. It was wonderful here, just him and the oh so blue ocean. It wasn’t until he once again heard the knocking from the door as he woke up again, climbing out of the too small bed.

His forearms were really sore, tiny red words were visible on his skin. He glanced down on the floor, there was still blood stains on the carpet. He reminded himself to clean it away before his mum came home from her work today. If she would see that, she would certainly hide all the knifes in the house and force him into talking to that psychiatrist that she had wanted him to meet since he had been ten years old.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” he groaned as he rubbed his eyes tiredly.

Who could it be that was showing up at his door when the clock was only eight at a Saturday morning? It was the weekend for crying out loud! Didn’t grown up people knew that teenagers loved to sleep half the day?

He almost tripped down the last stairs as he was caring his duvet around his body. He was only wearing his boxers, and he didn’t felt like to show his naked body to some stranger. When he reached the door, there was the banging again and this time Harry’s irritation was changed into fear. Because when he opened the door, there wasn’t some vacuum seller. It was Louis, with a black eye and bruises that covered his whole face.

“Lou, what the fuck has happened to you?” he said as he gripped the brown sleeve and drew his friend into the living room.

“Some damn bullies once again.” The male muttered.

“This isn’t just some bullies Lou, this has gone overboard! You have to tell your mum about this, this can’t just continue.”

“And what’s she gonna do, huh? She’s the whole reason why this is even happening! Don’t get me wrong, I love my mother, but if it hadn’t been for her working choice, then I would still have those people as my friends.”

The Doncaster boy sat down on the couch as he looked up on the roof so that the blood that was dripping down his nose wouldn’t touch the furniture. Harry walked to the bathroom, feet dragging after him on the floor.

He took out the first aid kit that was hiding behind the bathroom mirror. This was slightly going to hurt, he thought as he pulled out the disinfectant. Harry didn’t like that this had become a bad habit, Louis turning up on his door when some idiot had beaten the crap out of him. He hated to clean away the blood as the male was crying sadly and whispering all over again whatever it was that he had done to deserve this shit.

“This might sting.” Harry informed the older bloke as he pushed the tissue into a cut and whipped away some blood stains on his cheek.

The blue-eyed let out a small yelp as it touched his skin, but he had gotten used to the horrible feeling. Harry had no idea how Louis was going to cover this later; this wasn’t going to become just some small bruise. His whole face would certainly turn purple and there was no excuse anymore that his parents would buy.

“Why do you always appear on my doorstep when this happens? Why doesn’t you go to Liam, you know since you _like_ him and all.” He wondered as he continued cleaning away the blood.

The smaller teen’s body turned petrified, and Harry was certain that he had never seen the boy look so scared before in his entire life. Perhaps it had been wrong of him to bring the subject up, but he couldn’t help it. He sucked at everything about emotions and relationships, that was the whole reason why he always read about them when he got the chance.

“You know?”

“Yeah, I guess I do.” He chuckled.

“Do you feel disgusted?” Louis whispered almost inaudible.

“About what?” he asked, not knowing what the hell he was talking about.

Perhaps they had hit his head a bit too hard, as he seemed to loose his mind. Harry would never feel disgusted about none of his friends, and the older lad should know that.

“About me, being gay.”

Tears were slowly starting to build up in the blue orbs and he was certain that the brunette’s vision was really blurry. He hugged the smaller lad tenderly as he stroked away the hair that had gotten stuck in the blood on his cheek.

“Never Lou, I would never be disgusted about you being you. I can’t understand that you would really think so.”

The male was sobbing loudly in his ear as he buried his face into the crook of Harry’s neck. He had to remind himself to go and showering as there was possibly snot from Louis, attached to his skin.

“I-I’m so ashamed.” He breathed out.

It was heart breaking seeing him cry, it wasn’t something that Harry was ever going to get used to. Usually when he saw people crying, often girlfriends that had been cheated on by their boyfriends, he felt nothing but emptiness. He couldn’t feel sympathy for anybody than himself, so it felt rather strange to feel it right now, towards a different person.

“Have you told Liam yet? You know, about you having these ‘feelings’ for him.”

“Styles, don’t act dumber than you already is,” Louis said as he slapped his shoulder.

“I could never tell him this, no one was ever going to find out.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

“I’m sure he would.”

There was no point of lying; he knew that what Louis said was the truth. Liam would mind if he was told that his best friend in the world was in love with him. And if he refused the older lad, then Louis wouldn’t have the faith about life, and would probably kill himself.

He saw the blue eyes were looking down on the new poem on his wrist; it made his heart flutter painfully as he watched it. It had been one of his worst so far, words that were forced out of him.

“I’m not even going to tell you to stop, since I’m not really better. I don’t want you to argue with me, but I think I want to die. I talked to Niall about something yesterday, he told me that you and him have this club that you call ‘The dead boys club’, and I asked him if I could join you guys, and he said yes.”

“To be honest Lou, I don’t even know what that means, the whole club thing. I only said I was in it to make him smile.”

They were silent for a few minutes, Harry continuing to rub the now red tissue in the destroyed face. Louis was staring at him like the old lady in the library had done, but it didn’t creep him out as much as when her dull eyes had done it.

“Do you have feelings for him Haz? I mean, the last couple of months you’ve started to become really close, in a way that you’re not ever been with me, Liam or Zayn.”

“F-f-feelings? I don’t have feelings for Niall Horan.” Harry exclaimed, his voice cracking as he said the blonde’s name.

"Tell me Haz, why haven’t you ever been together with someone? All these years that I’ve known you, you haven’t ever even looked towards someone. I mean, you’re the first one of the four of us who would be the most capable to ever find someone to love."

"Why? Because I don't do love, I don't express myself through feelings, that's why."

"I just think that you're scared of being in love. I think you're scared of not being in control of this thing you have with Niall, and that you're scared about not being perfect." Louis said, looking more determent than he had ever done in his entire life.

What if Louis was being right? What if he really was having feelings towards Niall? No, this was only Louis, putting stupid ideas into his head again. Of course he didn’t felt like the brunette did for Liam, he had just only accepted him as a friend and not as an interferer. Love wasn’t something that was meant for him, the only feeling that he was supposed to feel was being in control.

“I know that you don’t believe me Harry, but you’ve been in love with Niall even before he moved here.”

“How’s that even possible?” the green-eyed teen wondered, but Louis only remained silent.

-

He felt how his cheeks were blushing as Niall was flipping his chocolate curls between his thumb and index finger. He whimpered as he felt the blonde’s skin brushing lightly against his mistakenly. He could still feel the ghost of his fingers touching him, and the heart in his chest was pounding loudly. Niall was smiling over how satisfied he was by the reaction that he made on Harry.

“Can you be honest with me Ni?” he breathed, feeling the courage in his body disappearing.

“Sure can do!”

“Why did you move here? Why didn’t you stayed in Ireland? It’s not that I’m not glad you’re here, because _really,_ I am.”

He saw a slight pain appearing in the blue eyes, and for a second he wished that he hadn’t even uttered the words. But he couldn’t help to wonder why someone would want to move here, the worst place in the entire world. Not a person with a mental mind at least.

“My dad usually hits me, and one day I had had enough. I called Liam and asked him if he had a couch for me to crash at, and as the genuine person that he is, he offered me to live at that deserted house.”

”You live there? I always thought you lived at his place.” he exclaimed, clearly shocked.

Niall only shook his head, and the smile was slowly starting to reappear again on his delicate pink lips.

Perhaps Louis was right after all; maybe he did felt something different for Niall, a good different. Perhaps love wasn’t something that hadn’t been made for him, but only hiding since he had been to blind to see it.

“You know, the first time I met you, I knew I wanted to be with you. I wanted to kiss away all the pain and sorrow in your eyes. That was the real reason why I was so mad at you for not liking me, because it hurt so fucking much.”

“Then why don’t you?”

“Do what?” the Irishman frowned, not understanding what the hell Harry was talking about.

“Then why don’t you kiss me?” Harry whispered.

The surprise in the shimmering eyes was changed to joy and lust in only a second. He felt Niall’s nose bumping into his cheek before his lips were ghosting over Harry’s. Niall was beautiful and soothing and for an instant, he wanted to freeze this moment. This first moment in his life that he felt truly happy without worries that depressed him. He drew in the scent of the blonde, and it was exactly the same as he had thought he would be, the smell of cologne and the taste of toothpaste.

Two blue shadows were trembling between his eyes and his lips, and it wasn’t until his hands had found their way beneath Niall’s white tank top that he closed them, smiling into Harry’s touch.

The kiss was very decent and pure, just like Niall himself was. And the anger about the information that his father used to beat him floated like a wave over him. He was never ever letting the blonde move back to Ireland as long as he lived, he would rather die than seeing him as destroyed as Louis used to look like.

They broke apart to catch their breaths, smiling goofily against each other. This was the thing that he liked the most about Niall, that he never looked at him with pity, but with understanding. He had been wrong the first time he met him, saying that he didn’t have some depth. He was probably the one of them who had experienced the most of them two to even understand what the word ‘depth’ meant.

The buzzing cell phone in the pocket of his trousers disrupted his thoughts. At first he decided to ignore it, but when he met Niall’s wondering gaze, he pulled it up.

“Harry, he’s there, he’s there Harry!” a chocking voice shouted.

“Liam, calm down! Take a deep breath, and then tell me what’s happened.” He said into the phone.

“Louis, he’s at the hospital. Someone hit him in the back of his head, and then… oh my god, it hit him on some nerve or something, and now he’s unconscious and the paramedics don’t know if he’s ever going to survive this.”

The phone dropped down loudly on the floor, sounding like a mirror being crashed into thousands of pieces. He could still hear Liam calling his name over and over again, but he couldn’t find himself to pick it up and answer him. This couldn’t be true, it couldn’t. It had been only yesterday that he had seen the Doncaster the boy, and it had seemed like he was finally going to collect himself and being somewhere near the feeling of happiness.

He tied up his fist, knuckles turning white till they felt numb. He punched it times and times again on his body as he screamed ‘fuck!’ the loudest he could.

“Harry, what has happened?”

He couldn’t answer, didn’t wanted to. All he could think about was the pain in his ribcage that was expanding for every second that went by.

“Haz, please tell me why you’re freaking out?”

He looked into the pleading eyes; he couldn’t keep this from him even though he had the urge to. He wanted to spare the smaller teen the pain, not telling about how Louis perhaps wouldn’t survive this. That it was possible that this was going to be the last time that he saw the kid, and tears was starting to swell up in his eyes.

“Ni, you have to take me to the hospital. Louis’ hurt, he’s really hurt.” He said as he tried to swallow the lump in his throat.

-

Harry didn’t even comprehended how he had managed to come into the white building without him remembering how he had gotten there in the first place. He had always hated hospitals, there was nobody who ever smiled and people running everywhere to finally say goodbye to their loved ones. It scared him that he might never talk to Louis again.

“Lou, can you hear me?” he whispered, but the boy was as still and cold as a statue.

“If you still can hear me, I want you to know that I’m very happy about you being in mine and Niall’s club, and I’ll promise to ask the other twos if they want to join it as well. If you want to, you can be the leader. I’m sure that Niall would mind giving you the post, as you need it the most I think. Friends never let their loved ones alone, always follows them on new adventures, and if you die, then I’ll kill myself. So it’s all up to you now, my fate lies in your hands.” He sobbed.

He felt two arms travelling around his waist, hugging him tenderly. When he opened his eyes, it wasn’t the colour blue he met, but the colour of brown. There was pain visible in the hazel ones, and it looked like his soul was slowly drifting away from the tall body. He knew that he needed Harry as much as he needed him, and their hearts pace were synchronising sadly together.

“You know, I wasn’t allowed to tell you, but he was, no, he is in love with you.” The younger boy admitted, feeling a bit like he had betrayed his friend.

“Yeah, he kind off told me.” Liam said as his eyes fell ashamedly down on the white floor.

“What? He said to me that he wasn’t ever going to tell you, because he knew that you wouldn’t love him back.”

“I know, he said that too. You see, he said to me that time when we played spin the bottle, before Niall came into your lives and I kissed Zayn,” The hazel-eyed explained.

“He was too drunk afterwards to remember, and I felt too guilty not loving him back to bring it up again. Because it hurt as much for me as it did for him that I couldn’t love him in the same way that he loved me. I felt like terrible because I’m his best friend, and it seems like I can’t even make his biggest dream become true just because I’m the biggest coward on earth.”

Harry didn’t know how to respond at it; all he felt was how the shaved kid rose in his eyes. It was extremely admiring that he had stayed as a friend to Louis, trying to ignore the fact that his best friend was head over heels for him, and the thing that Harry was the most confounded over was how Liam seemed to think that this was all his fault, taking the blame over something that neither of them could control.

They walked together and sat on a their own chairs, the opposite to each other. Harry held Louis’ left hand as Liam held his right one. For just a second, he wished that this whole thing was just a nightmare and that he would wake up in Niall’s safe arms again.

-

 _‘He’s dead, Louis’ dead. Take Niall with you and meet me and Zayn at the house.’_ He heard the voice playing once again in his head.

He couldn’t find himself to cry, only to entwine his fingers into the smaller hand as he looked into the safe blue eyes. They walked together into the threshold, never letting their hands separate. It felt like this giant stone was back in his stomach and he had to bite his bottom lip to not scream out in pain.

The first thing that he saw was all Zayn’s brushes, pencils and colours were spread over the round table. The two blokes looked sadly towards the couple, and Harry knew what this was. It was his promise to Louis, the unspoken rule to never let a friend be lonely.

He walked towards the tanned boy, and a small smile played beneath his emerald eyes. The jet-black haired lad only nodded in an agreement as he lifted up Harry’s old fountain pen that was drained out of ink.

“I’m an artist Harry, and I want to decide myself how I want to die,” he said.

“I want you to crave in a poem about us into my skin, and I want you to sign it as ‘The dead boys club’. Then I want you to write a letter to the someone who’s going to find us later, possibly our families.”

“I’ll happily write on you, if you promise to paint on me.”

“I actually hoped for you asking that.”

The older boy turned around to Niall, the smile disappearing. He knew what Zayn was thinking; that he wasn’t sure which path the blonde was going to choose. And if Harry had to be honest, he wasn’t certain if he wanted him to choose the same as he already had.

“I’m not letting Harry do this himself, I’m won’t leave him alone. Paint something on me too, something that will link me and him together forever.” He said determinedly.

“Okay, I’ll do that gladly.” Zayn said as his whole expression softened.

“And Liam, you’re going to follow us?” Harry wondered.

“Yes. Because even though I couldn’t love him in this life, perhaps I can love him in the next one.”

The foreign teen lifted up a brush as he dipped it into the red can. He painted a half heart on Harry’s chest and then the other half on Niall’s. It wasn’t something that was really that advanced, but he liked it. It was something that showed the whole world that they were lovers, belonging to each other into the infinity and beyond. And he was extremely grateful that them was Zayn’s last masterpiece.

-

“Nice to see you guys, a bit chilly up here, isn’t it?” Louis smiled widely.

“It really is freezing. Do you think that the police officer down there, what was his name?” the black-haired said.

“Steve Morgan.”

“Right. Do you think that Steve really give gives a damn about our little club?”

“Yeah, I think so.” The blonde whispered.

They all hummed in agreement, before they walked away. Harry had thought that it would be hard to leave the life on earth, but it had felt natural doing it, surrounded by his friends. And the pure happiness that beamed from the Doncaster boy had made it all worth it.

If Harry had known how free and worriless he would actually feel, then he would probably had done this a long time ago. But he was glad that he had waited, because if he hadn’t, then he wouldn’t ever have met this angel of his. So in some way he had been blessed, because he had the most precious thing that he could ever wished for on his side.

They walked together in the white haze that Zayn would later paint, Harry write on, Liam stare into, Louis love endlessly and Niall unite as one. This was going to be an awfully big adventure as a certain someone had earlier said, and for the first time in his life, he felt ready to experience it.

 


End file.
